Juniper Branches
by Aisukuri-Mu Studio
Summary: .:C:. AU. They're eight years into their marriage, and though they're happy, something is missing. But when earth-shattering news marches itself right up to their front door, both Billa and Thorin find themselves suddenly having to dig and work for their love like never before. But they will love. They'll love and they'll make it work. They promised. fem!BilboxThorin.
1. This is Where We Are

"_With the Arkenstone on your brow, do you promise to learn the ways of this kingdom as much as you will learn of me, inside and out?"_

* * *

"You danced for me."

Billa smiled, her hand tightening around her king's—her _husband_'s—and oh, wasn't that a gloriously sentimental word—as they slowly walked to the center of the new palace gardens. The nighttime air was crisp, refreshing—perfect for planting a new seed that would, hopefully, grow to see many more years, many more struggles, and many more triumphs. Perfect for refreshing a soil for new life.

The hobbit could barely hold her joy at it all, resting her head against his upper arm as she tightened her hold on the seeds in her hand, pressing her fist against her chest. "I did," she murmured, warmly pleased. "And it won't be the last time, either."

* * *

"_With the Arkenstone upon your eyes, do you promise to see and not to ignore the troubles of your kingdom—and the troubles of me?"_

* * *

At that, Thorin stopped their walk, pulling her around in front of him, hand that wasn't holding her own brought up to her cheek so he could tilt her head at the right angle and kiss her softly again. It had to be the thirtieth or so time he had done that unexpectedly, so chastely brought their lips together just in this day alone—but Billa didn't mind. It more than told her she was loved. It told her she was adored. Delighted in.

And like each time before, she couldn't help but smile widely, genuinely—perhaps stupidly—up at him as they parted. But Thorin always grinned back, which made this moment—like all the other ones—both worth it and so shameless.

"Thank you," he whispered—meaning that with far more relief and affection than the hobbit probably was aware of. Thank you for being okay. Thank you for living.

Thank you for loving me.

But Billa's heart and smile grew, all the same. "You're welcome."

And she kissed him again, standing on her toes to bring them together.

* * *

"_With the Arkenstone upon your nose, do you promise to be alert and protective, should danger arise—and to act accordingly in the best interest of both your country and me when the times will call?"_

* * *

When they separated, they continued on walking until they reached the small spot—the very center mound of the entire gardens—where they had decided to plant their little myrtle tree. Under the moonlight, it almost looked enchanted—as if it were magical grounds that they were walking upon, Billa's bare feet and toes and Thorin's furred boots squishing into—instead of normal, fertile soil.

All the same, when they bent down to begin their work, both of their bare hands digging into the dirt to dig a small and deep enough hole, it was anything but ordinary.

It was a dwarf and a hobbit building a life.

* * *

"_With the Arkenstone upon your cheeks, do you promise to be empathetic to your kingdom and cause, and to love me physically as much as you already do emotionally and mentally?"_

* * *

Together, then, with their hands intertwined over the small spot where they had planted their little myrtle tree, their lips met for the thirty-something-other time that day—they didn't keep count; they didn't even want to try to—reaching for each other in a bridge of blessing, from both of them, for the lives they would lead, and the Hope and Promise that would still endure.

* * *

"_With the Arkenstone upon your lips, to you promise to only speak truths to your kingdom and to me—to never utter or let loose the poison of lies and distrust?"_

* * *

For everything that they didn't know.

For everything they wanted to.

For everything that they would strive for.

And for everything they had already won.

* * *

"_Then as I crown you my queen under the mountain, so also do I claim you as my wife—and as my One."_

* * *

Their lips met, and life was good.

For eight both beautiful and heartbreaking years.

* * *

Billa Baggins Oakenshield, Queen of Erebor, One of Thorin Oakenshield, let her eyes gently flutter open to the soft sunlight warm upon her face. Without moving a muscle, she remained exactly where she lay, sighing in contentment, breathing in the warm, musky smell of their bedroom as she thought and closed her eyes let herself reflect on the eight years that had so far passed to this day, their anniversary.

It seemed like such a long time, when she thought about it—those eight years—just like those eight months she had to wait before their wedding—but truthfully, it wasn't. At least, not in the long run of events. After all, both of them still had so much more of their lives to live together—so many more moments to share, to laugh about, to cry over, and so many more to continue pondering and discovering.

No, life had not been dull so far. Not while married to a dwarf.

And to her amusement, as if on cue, Billa could immediately hear the not-so-quite snores of her husband behind her—deep in sleep. With a scoffing laugh, she rolled onto her back to face him, fondness softening her eyes as she took in his features in the sunlight. And like every morning since their first night spent together in a passionate tangle, where she had awaken before him—an at-the-time surprise that would soon become commonplace, because she would quickly learn that her dear One could sure sleep deeply—Billa took to cataloguing the tiny nuances about his appearance that made him so endearing to her.

With a small smile, her hand reached out to his cheek, fingers brushing against the sun-darkened flesh, tough and weathered like leather due to biting winds and smoke-filled wars that he had to face and he had to fight over the years. _The texture, _she noted with a hum, index finger patting the skin gently as she thought, _ah, that's a particular trait of his—dwarven, to be sure—but unique, in the same way. Completely Thorin, and no one else._

Her eyes trailed to his nose—hardly curved, more angled—more sharp and rounded at the end in a way that gave him a particular youth to his visage. Of course—that image was then thwarted by his many strands of grey streaking through his wiry-black mane, which gave him an appearance of sharp, appealing wisdom and experience she couldn't help but adore.

_He has a couple more now since last I checked, _Billa also noticed, her fingers straying to brush through the ends. Eventually, their searching found their marriage bead that she had braided in his hair eight years ago, during that blessed happiness and so-carefree time.

With a smile, she lifted it up to her eyesight, amusedly viewing her shaky-handed work. She turned it left and right, allowing the rounded edges to catch the sunlight as she once again reflected and thought and hummed.

_Eight years…eight long, long years…_

…_and yet, this is still all we have…_

And there it was again.

The sadness. An old friend by now; without bothering to even greet her, it barged inside and began to weigh down heavy on her heart.

With a sigh, the joy fading, Billa let the bead fall and sunk her hand back under the covers, where there, it strayed and strayed until it—a subconscious movement really, even though she had been doing it a lot lately, despite how much Thorin didn't like it—rested against her abdomen, her fingers pressed tight against bare, folded skin in a broken, half-wished beckoning.

But still, nothing was there.

"…you're doing it again."

Her eyes drifted upward to see her king's eyes, bright and moon-silver, now open where they had once been closed. She swallowed, bowing her head again to not meet his heavy gaze. She couldn't bring herself to say anything in response.

(After all, was there anything at all that could still be said?)

Without words—because by now, they needn't to speak in order to express such delicate things—Thorin rolled over and wrapped her up in his arms—a powerful, if tender, embrace.

_It's okay._

But Billa clenched her eyes tightly shut and reached with her free hand up to grip his bicep in an anchor that would hold herself fast to the here-and-now—which was _beyond_ the what-has-been, she had to remind herself—as well as keep her tears back and away and at bay.

Yet despite what he said—despite what anyone said—after six miscarriages, it really, really wasn't just "okay."

* * *

Their eight-year anniversary should have been happy.

They wanted it to be. They expected it to be. So truly, it should have been.

And it was, at first. The day dawned warmly. Cordially and friendly and like every other day as their nephews bombarded them with happy greetings and playful mischief and Bombur cooked for the entire castle a celebratory breakfast in honor of their happily married king and queen.

Everything was going smoothly, contentedly, until _she _showed up.

She, with her powerful, commanding stride and the bundle she carried in her arms, right up the throne room hall, past the dwarves who yelled at her to stop, bearing weapons and crying her name—past the stunned looks of the dwarves who recognized her and the glares of those who hated her. With her chin held high, she didn't stop her march until she stood at the bottom of the stairs to the throne, locking eyes with the stunned ones of the king under the mountain who sat above her.

And when Billa looked at her uncomprehendingly, before glancing at her husband—she suddenly understood, especially once the name passed his lips.

"Vashti…"

Oh._ Her._

Eyes wide, Billa turned back to the she-dwarf before them, who grinned at Thorin—the only one she, apparently, had eyes for—as she uttered back, "Hello, Thorin."

And all fell quiet in the throne hall.

Thorin swallowed, before his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I should hope that's obvious, _Dear. _I'm coming back to claim what's mine."

Billa's throat seized, something at the base of her spine severely disliking the tone the she-dwarf spoke with—the authority and ownership—sheer expectation, as if she just naturally should have whatever it was she was demanding.

And before she could stop herself, Billa suddenly found her back straightening, the words passing from herself in daring question, "And what would that be?"

Vasthi's eyes passed over to her, and upon landing on her, the she-dwarf's grin widened. "Oh, don't fret. Nothing that would make _you _uncomfortable, Halfling." Uncomfortably, Billa shifted, especially as the she-dwarf's eyes traveled her up and down, frowning slightly as Kili and Fili outrightly glared, shifting where they stood nearby, as if they itched to punch her. "No, I'm talking about the _inheritance._"

"Inheritance?" Thorin spoke up, standing as he glowered at this unwanted she-dwarf. "If it is money you speak of, Vashti, you'll get none. The terms of our separation were decided long ago—"

"—yes, yes, I remember _that," _the she-dwarf hurriedly dismissed, tossing her head. "No, I'm not after _that _kind of inheritance."

And with that announcement, she suddenly pulled away the top corner of the blanket in her bundle, revealing the face of a small dwarf-toddler, sleeping, but near wakefulness by the way his nose wrinkled, and the eyes shifted, REM cycle ending.

Billa only knew cold.

But Thorin didn't get it. His face contorted into confusion, eyebrows lowering, and the corners of his mouth tilting downward in indecision. The blue-grey eyes danced down and up, tracing child-face to mother-face and back again as he tried to piece the parts together, tried and failed and tried and failed. "Is this supposed to mean something?"

"It should," Vashti's voice practically sung, pleased and purring, and thick and sickeningly sweet. "Of course, I wouldn't expect you to recognize him—you've never met him before. Until now."

Clearing her throat, Vashti unwrapped the toddler from his binding bundle, squatting as she set the young, just-awoken boy on his feet for all the gathered crowd and royalty to see. Her grin was a mile wide, and oh, how Billa's insides shook. "Say 'hello,' to your son, Thorin. Your eight-year-old son."

Billa closed her eyes, a shaking hand brought up to cover her mouth.

_Of course._

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Haha...many of you asked about what happened to Thorin's first wife. 8D; Well. Here you go.

And so begins our next adventure. A bit of an angsty start, but I hope you've all enjoyed regardless. 8D Sorry it's a up a bit later than I said it would be; I hope it still goes over well! Welcome back, everyone! Ready to get the ball rolling again?

Let's see what lies around the corners this time! 8D


	2. This is to be Shared

"Billa!"

But the hobbit kept walking, pushing her brisk pace faster and faster as she tried to remain in the comforts of her weeping solitude.

"Billa, wait!"

However, her husband would have none of that. His pace being much faster, much surer than hers, it took no time at all to near her side and take her arm in order to turn her around as he plead, "Billa—Billa, wait, please, I need you to listen, all right? This doesn't change anything—"

"—no, no, of _course_ it does, you oaf," Billa muttered in a half-whisper, trying to cover her face and turn away, but Thorin's grip was strong, holding her there as her tears fell. His hands reached up to the sides of her face, thumbs wiping away the trails as she sighed and continued, "E-even if you say it doesn't, and even if we're still married, she can give you the one thing I haven't been able to, Thorin. That's…" She shook her head, glancing away as she pulled from his hands.

It took a moment, letting a long stretch of silence hum between them, but after she swallowed and lowered her face, she could finally bring herself to murmur, "…and that's _fine. _Really. I'm…I'm _happy_. You—you have a son. And that's…that's great."

But the next swallow she tried to shove down was too tight and hurt too much.

She blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the next flow of tears. "It's great," she finally repeated. "Really. It is."

Thorin sighed. "Billa—"

"—no, no, truly—it's—it's _okay_, I just…" But small, shaking hands clenched and unclenched, fingers intertwining with each other in a jumbled mess as she stuttered, "…I just…you know, Gloin and his wife have their sweet boy, Gimli, and H-Himie was just married last year, to that Gamgee fellow—our gardener—remember him?—and—and she's already pregnant and showing—a-and then there's Freya and Nona who have their boys, who are turning two and three this year—already talking and walking—and—and oh, a-and now there's _this—_and Thorin, she has this _beautiful _boyfor you—and after all this time, I just—I just can't help but think th-that maybe there's something _wrong _with _me_—that—that maybe I'm just—"

But Thorin didn't let her continue.

Abruptly, he pulled her into his arms, one hand on the back of her head, fingers cradling curly red-burning-sunset as she clung to him, his other arm around her back. An embrace that silenced her, but left room for him to speak right into her pointed ear, which he did with hushed reverence, "There is_ nothing wrong _with you. Do you understand that?" His voice was tight—but firm. Convinced.

In her silence, he asked again. "Do you _understand _that?"

He could feel his wife's lips move against the cloth on his chest, a muffled, "Thorin—"

"—no," the dwarf king interrupted, his hold tightening for a split-second. "No. Don't. Listen—there is _nothing wrong _with you. It's_ okay_ to not be able to have children. It's _all right_."

"B-but—"

"—Whether or not we actually sire does not affect my love for you—it never will. And even if we _never _bear any little ones to call our own, I will never, _ever _love you less or think there's something wrong with you—because there _isn't_. You are _fine_ the way you are, Billa Baggins, and I did not marry you just to have offspring. I married you to share my _life _with you. And that is what I'll do—children or none."

The smaller hands fisted themselves tremblingly into his furs, and at the increased intensity of her sobs, Thorin's grip finally softened, holding her close as the sorrow passed.

_We'll get through this, _he told her in words he couldn't say. _We will. Just like we have so far. _

_We will. I promise._

* * *

"Balin, isn't there anything we can do? Something just seems so _unfair _about all this!"

"I'm afraid not, Kili—rules are rules—"

"—but it's not only unfair to Uncle Thorin and Aunt Billa—it's unfair to _Fili_, too, Balin! He's been training all this time to be the next king—"

"—Kili, it's fine. Really—"

"—no it's _not_, Brother! In the event that Uncle Thorin and Aunt Billa never have a child, _you're _supposed to be on that throne! We agreed on this, had council on it, and everything! I don't—I'm not willing to suddenly entrust Erebor to a cousin I've never even _met_."

"He's only eight, Kili. He still has time to grow and learn the ways of being royalty, as well as get to know you."

"But—"

"—it's the law, anyway. Durin's most direct bloodline is supposed to be on the throne. If that dwarfling truly is Thorin's son, it'd be wrong to put anyone else next in line."

"Wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong—that stupid Vashti keeping Thorin's son a secret for _eight years. That's_ wrong. I mean—what's with that, anyway? Doesn't that strike you guys as odd that she's only brought him up _now,_ and not anytime sooner? I mean…of all times, why _now_?"

"…you know, I hate to say it, but Kili's right. Why _did _she suddenly bring the boy here?"

But Balin, unknowing of the answer, could only frown at the two dwarves in front of him, as clueless and troubled as they were.

The two brothers shared curious glances with each other in the following silence.

* * *

The debates and uncertainty about what to do in this situation continued for three days afterwards. There were questions as to whether or not this boy was even Thorin's actual son, or if Vashti was lying—which brought Gandalf to the castle in order to prove that yes, this was his prodigy—which, oddly enough, was a strange-enough scene, considering the wizard had marched right up to the boy and his mother angrily in a slender, grey-robed fury, seen the boy, and then had an incredibly strange expression on his face as he quietly confirmed the fact and stormed back out in equal haste and…anger? Uncertainty?

No one could quite tell what had Gandalf so troubled. But then, there were also other questions to answer in the meantime: inquiries on whether or not Vashti's claim for her son to have the inherency for the throne were valid—which Balin, heart heavy, confirmed anyway because of the law concerning the line of Durin. There were also questions on what to do about the boy's wellbeing and growth.

It was those that were the most troubling ones.

After all, now that he was there, son of Thorin but not of BIlla, should he be raised by his birth-mother on the castle-grounds? Or should the king and queen take in this boy as their own son, instead, prying him from Vashti's rightful grasp? What was right in this situation? How did they sort out what kind of parentage the boy should have while in the middle of this mess?

Dori rubbed his face as he leaned against the conference table—a place that was becoming quite familiar the longer and more frequently council was needed the more these matters were discussed.

But it was Gloin who announced his opinion first—absolutely firm in his conviction and words as he spoke them from heartfelt experience. "We cannot tear a rightful, loving mother away from her child—_that _is grievous and terrible crime to commit."

"But what else do we do? _Permit _Vashti, a she-dwarf who has separated from Thorin, to stay here in the palace again? She is a right piece of _work_, that woman is," Oin uttered to his brother, huffing.

"Whether or not we like her or find her compatible to be around, we'll have to find a way to deal with her presence here, anyway—because Gloin is right," Balin answered, hands flat on the table as he spoke in calm, even tones. "We cannot take her son away from her. That would be…wrong. Until he is of age to not need his mother's care, Vashti will have to remain here with him, and raise him, as is her natural right."

Resigned silence reigned afterwards, mutual sighs coming from different sides of the table.

Billa, like the others, remained quiet, head bowed as she always did during these meetings. She noticed, however, when several pairs of eyes immediately turned to her after Balin's statement—something within her suddenly cringed and cried, _I know—I have failed, I have failed, I have failed—I don't need you to look at me and tell me that the heir on the throne was supposed to be mine—I just—_

"—Billa," Thorin murmured quietly.

Attention caught, the hobbit's gaze snapped up to her husband's, feeling his hand covering hers as he quietly muttered, "Are you all right with this?"

And though her lips trembled, she smiled anyway, nodding assuredly in response. "Yes. I…I can find nothing wrong with the council's decision…" But she swallowed tightly all the same, turning away. "So let it…let it be as they say."

Thorin's grip on her hand tightened, empathetic and knowing—because he knew that these meetings and conversations always served to guilt her heart further, almost to the point of making her physically ill back in the privacy of their bedroom, where no one could see and she could, alone, wallow in her sorrow. They had discussed it long into the night in bed, fingers stroking hair and eyes not quite meeting eyes as they laid bare their worries and concerns to each other, and Billa was terribly, painfully honest with him about feeling so sick lately, that it troubled him like nothing before.

So even as he confirmed for the table that he agreed with his wife, he was also aware how exhausted these conversations were making her. Some part of him sorely wished, as they all prepared to leave, that this would be the last, if only to make her feel better. He sighed as the others politely nodded to him, standing and heading out, preparing himself to leave as well.

_If only there was a way to—_

"—King Thorin, Queen Billa—sorry—sorry—pardon me, but I, um…there's been…um, if you all would wait, there has been some interesting news from the western front that I think you all should hear."

The king immediately looked up, curious like the others who stopped their outward progress, as he gazed at the young dwarf who had suddenly burst inside the room, meek and flushed as if it had not been his own decision to interrupt everyone in such a way, and had, instead, been shoved inside by two pairs of other, more daring and reckless hands (who he would definitely have to have a talk with later). "What kind of news, Ori?"

"Um—that dragon—that dragon from the Battle at Shire's Edge—if you all remember him—he's…he's actually sitting on Erebor's border, right now, um, demanding to speak with the queen."

…wait, what?

"S-Smaug?" Billa asked in disbelief, hand sliding from Thorin's as she gripped the arms of her chair in surprise. "Smaug is—Smaug is asking to see _me…_?" After all this time? She hadn't—she hadn't even heard from him since they arrived at the Battle at Shire's Edge those eight years ago. And now, suddenly—he wanted to see her?

Why?

Ori shrugged. "A-apparently. He won't say much, just says that he'll see you and no one else. He says it's important."

Important.

Important?

_But what could be important to a dragon…?_

Thorin and Billa's eyes met in equal, mutual confusion, the question crossing both of their minds at the same time. Because after all, what would qualify in this situation? Gold? Jewels? And more importantly, what was worth _discussing _over—something dragons _hardly did, _rather than plundering and conquering recklessly for their own gain without asking or speaking first? What was he willing to sit and wait to speak with her for?

It was a question that could only deserve one answer. So Billa swallowed, murmuring quietly to her husband, "I should, um…I think I should go to him."

Immediately, she was met with an uproar of complaints and denials, each claiming that no, it wasn't safe, or no, she was needed here, but it was Thorin, whose eyes locked with hers, that actually nodded, much to the surprise of everyone else.

Silence overtook them, especially as he then crouched beside his seated wife, taking her hand again in his much larger one. "Will you be all right—going to see him? I won't let you go alone, but I cannot travel with you in such a journey. I must remain here—and as you know, it will only take a day to get there. So I ask again: will you be all right?"

His words were quiet, meant for her ears alone—and at their tone, Billa couldn't help but nod, smiling back at him gently as a little color returned to her cheeks at the prospect of finally getting an excuse to be out from under the tense mountain she called home and yet currently seemed like a battlefield. "I'll be fine. Don't worry. You and I both know this will be good for me; I'll be able to get a little bit of fresh air this way. _And_ Smaug won't hurt me. I know he won't. Not under my Golden Rule."

Thorin couldn't help softening, amused, but also gazing worriedly back. He straightened, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "I know," he whispered to her quietly. "I trust you." Before he stood up fully, speaking to the rest of the room. "Oin, Dwalin—I need you two to pack to accompany her on this trip."

Without complaint, the two nodded in agreement. Balin stared, uncertain, but loyal, and Thorin nodded at his silence appreciatively as he turned to Ori. "And Ori, tell my two _nephews_, who are undoubtedly listening in right now, that they, too, are to pack in order to accompany their aunt on this overnight travel to Erebor's western border—"

"—_yes_!" came the resounding cheer from right outside the room.

Fighting back a smirk as Billa giggled beside him, Thorin continued on as if he hadn't heard, loudly speaking over the not-so-concealed voices, "And tell them, as well, that they ought to stop sticking their noses into situations that specifically _don't call for them. _The next time I catch them somewhere they _shouldn't _be, there will be serious reprimands. Do they understand?"

"Yeah, right," came one of them—the younger, everyone could tell, by his more whiny pitch. "As if you haven't said that a thousand times before—"

"—and yet _still _I haven't felt even a _wisp _of that prophesied discipline," added the older, as if chiding.

"Shame, shame."

Thorin rolled his eyes. "You _will _if you don't leave _now _to do your packing."

Immediately, everyone could hear the rushed and fading patter of footsteps as the two brothers fled the scene, chuckling and snickering to themselves as they volleyed comments to one another without missing an excited beat.

The mountain king sighed as the others chuckled, continuing to leave the room then, once the commotion had passed. He turned to his wife with an apologetic look, "Eight years, and they're still no more mature. You'd think by now, at the very _least, _Fili would grow a sense of being able to discern what's still too childish to do with his brother and what isn't."

But Billa only smiled at him. "If he did, he wouldn't be the same, Thorin, and you know that. He is good as he is—one day, he'll have to make those decisions—but for now, let him enjoy what he can as much as he can."

"I know." Thorin chuckled at her, drawing her close, and enjoying the feel of her hair underneath his hand. "I know."

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG~! ;A; I don't know if anyone pays attention to our Tumblr or anything, or even our author's page, but like I had explained there, I thought I would be able to get this chapter done before I left for my family's camping trip this weekend...but I wasn't able to. ;A; So I had to stave it off and finish it today. Which I did. Just for you guys.

So I apologize. ;A; Profusely for the delay.

Next chapter, I promise, will have lots of what you guys have been waiting for. Smaug, a surprise or two, and some more fluff and happy moments, now that Billa finally gets a break from the depressing atmosphere at the castle.

So enjoy. ;A; Please do. And have a wonderful day.


	3. This is Hope's Start

The road to Smaug's location passed under their horses' hooves in a matter of several hours throughout the day after they had set off in the morning. They crunched along as a slow, but steady bunch, having pleasant conversations all the while out under the bright sun and cool shade of trees. And perhaps what was most surprising to Billa, out of all of this, was _who _was talking to her the most—and _who _she was having such a grand time talking _to._

After all, Oin and her had never talked too much before. He and his brother were some of the more distant members of Thorin's Company that she didn't know as well. Or, she _hadn't _known as well, really.

Now, after riding her pony beside his own, she was beginning to discover he had a far softer side to him—a far more empathetic side that one wouldn't assume when looking at his gruff, round face and wild, thick white hair.

By all accounts, he looked intimidating; yet when he turned to her and uttered, "I know what it feels like…to watch everyone around you prosper and be happy, raising offspring of their own, when your own house is barren," her heart warmed with gentle affection for him, smiling back at the suddenly and surprisingly kind face.

Then, of course, her mind finally registered the words, and she softened in shock. "You mean—wait—I—I know Gloin has his boy, Gimli, but—"

"—my wife and I…have not been able to have children," Oin answered. He raised his eyes and gained a far-away look before he continued. "It was…not ever to be, it seems. So I do know how the loss feels. You are…not alone in this struggle, Billa; there are several others who struggle as well, besides us. It is like you said so long ago: whatever is not fine now, _will _be."

Billa smiled softly at him, the curved line of her mouth somehow seeming crooked or broken, but wholly appreciative all the same. "W-well….thank you, Oin."

The dwarf nodded to her respectfully, clearing his throat. After a short pause, his gaze redirected, he finally shrugged and added, "Besides—it is not as if we will never be happy or experience part of the joy of child-raising. I know my brother allows me plenty of time to spend with my excitable nephew—and trust me, those hours, too, however few or long they are, that I spent with him sometimes seem far enough for my days."

The hobbit beside him laughed—and it was such a welcome sound after the tension in the castle, that their trip suddenly seemed so much lighter than before.

* * *

Billa shouldn't have been surprised that Smaug looked no different than he did eight years ago. Really. After all, dragons had an almost infinite life-span, didn't they? So eight years could pass for them in the blink of an eye, and they wouldn't even be able to tell—or perhaps didn't even care, or something like that.

All the same, when she looked at him and saw absolutely no difference between the sheen and bend of dark scales before her and those she saw in her memory, something about it both calmed her and surprised her.

It was like greeting an old friend.

The wind was rather blustery that day, she also couldn't help but notice, and hugging her dress and cloak around her, Billa marched right up to the dragon who looked unfazed in the strong, blowing winds. In doing so, she tried to call all of her bravery and confidence to her, mustering up what authority she knew she had as queen of Erebor—although it probably meant nothing to a beast such as him, she knew. The dwarves at her back, standing a small distance away due to Smaug's huff and call for privacy, also stood by slightly uneasily, eying the dragon with a shred of distrust.

After all, no matter the help that the giant worm had given them eight years before—which had completely been for his own jealous revenge, they knew, and not on their own behalf—dragons were still dragons. Ruthless, selfish and greedy at the core.

But Billa came up to him, hugging herself, wind blowing her short, curly hair into her face, and still tried to look as dignified as possible as she uttered to him, "W-well…here I am, Smaug. You have me now. Is there—what—" –she cleared her throat and tried again— "—what is it that you had w-wanted to discuss with me?"

The dragon huffed, a strong puff of air that still smelt strongly of acidic sulfur. The hobbit winced at the stench. "I have questions, Halfling. Your Rule is…quite restrictive. I am not liking it half as much as when I had agreed to it years ago."

Oh.

Billa tried to hide her smile, dipping her head as she responded, "Oh—is that—is that what this is all about?"

"_Yes,_" Smaug hissed back, the muscles and tendons in his large limbs finally rippling to relief, now that these burning matters could finally be solved. His tail flicked once to the side in brief agitation. "I have promised not to attack your kingdom—a promise that is _not easy_ when your gold and wealth calls to me so—but there are others who wish to take it for themselves. I have advised against it, due to your Golden Rule—but they are as grumbling about it as I am. So answer me this, then, tiny Halfling: what is the reward in such strict discipline? Why should we hold to a rule or code that claims to be golden, but which, in reality, gives us no wealth at all?"

The hobbit looked up at him in some surprise, although amusement was tickling itself at the back of her head. "You mean you aren't aware? Smaug—don't you realize the true treasure this Rule is giving you?"

Smaug growled dangerously low in his throat. The dwarves behind her stiffened in apprehension, but the dragon did not attack her—not yet, at least. Instead, he lowered his head to the little hobbit, eyes narrowed as he demanded tightly, as if this very request pained him, "No. Explain."

Billa tried not to giggle—really, she did. But it was the oddest and hardest thing. "_Friendship. _You're making _friends _with both your other fellow dragons—_and _us, Smaug. Don't you realize that?"

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say. Immediately, the beast drew his head back, scoffing loudly, nostrils flared in distaste. "_Friendship_. Dull. Of course. Of course a Halfling such as you would think that to actually be something of _value_—but that means nothing to me. I am a solitary creature, unlike yourself. I do not depend on others to be happy. I want my _gold_ and my _jewels_."

"W-well…" Billa tried to explain, suddenly feeling as if she was losing her ground on this discussion.

But the dragon continued. "What use do _friends_ have, compared to the comfort and shine of a wealthy bed? How _can_ they even compare?" Smaug shook his head, decidedly disappointed, growling low in his throat again. "No, Halfling, I—"

"—w-well—l-let—let me ask _you _this, Smaug: should something like what happened eight years ago happen again—in which you are somehow caught and captured by a malevolent group of people—how will your gold and jewels help you?" Billa asked, the words spewing themselves out before she could stop herself. And she knew—when one of Smaug's eyes snapped to hers, clouded with anger and remembrance of his dark time in capture—that she had his attention now. "Your gold and jewels are lifeless things, although they may shine and be pretty to look at. But they are no comfort when you are sad, and they are no helping hand when you are in trouble. Friends, though—_friends _can do all this, and even more—"

Smaug huffed again, even though this time, it somehow seemed forced. "Sentiment. Friends are nothing else but an excuse to divulge in fickle emotions. I am not a lonely being, Halfling—I do not _need 'friends.'_"

"No, but—but you may_ want_ them soon enough," Billa murmured back.

There was a soft pause that lingered between them after that, and in the aftermath, the hobbit added quietly, "Of course…I cannot make you see what I see in the value of friends—but I hope that one day, you do. They're far more valuable than the gold or jewels you desire—even though you cannot visibly see their worth. Trust me on that much."

Smaug's eyes passed over her carefully from head to toe, letting a long silence once more stretch on.

Finally, however, after it came and went, he huffed at her again, bending over her—much to the alarm of the dwarves behind her, who started at the motion of the large jaw angled down upon their queen. But Billa looked up, somehow, unafraid, even as he breathed on her—this time, not smelling of sulfur, so much as rich campfire tones—as something warm and comforting filled her entire body like magic. And at the sensation, Billa couldn't help but close her eyes, letting it wash over her in red-orange waves across the back of her eyelids.

"_Soft hobbit,_" she heard his voice in the rush of breath. _"You shouldn't be so gentle after everything you have endured."_

Yet when it had finally passed, the hobbit couldn't help but smile shyly, blinking open her eyes to see Smaug lean back again, with a decidedly uncertain, uncomfortable expression in his eyes and the set of his jaw.

It then made her suddenly and sharply a bit uneasy. "What—what was that for?"

Smaug's jaw tightened, giving a fraction of silence, before he gruffed out, "An experiment, if you will, to test your words. If what you say is true…then I will give this Golden Rule one last chance to prove its worth. I have given you a Blessing, Halfling."

A…a Blessing?

"If what you say is true," his deep voice continued, "then you are now in debt to me. I have given you something, and now you must give me something in return. The Golden Rule, yes?"

Billa gaped at him in open confusion and awe. "I—um—yes—okay—I am—I thank you for your Blessing, but—I don't know what it is that I-I can repay you with that will be of equal value—what—what is it that your Blessing does?"

Smaug huffed out what sounded like an amused breath. "Depending on the Blessing the dragon gives, it can do nearly anything." Straightening in pride, the dragon's neck stretched out as his head angled itself upright and haughtily. "They say Dragon's Blessings can even cause miracles to happen. And from the amount of miscarriages you have had recently—six, am I correct?—I had thought that you would…appreciate one this time around."

…wait.

Something suddenly shuddered and stopped in the world.

Billa…something—something in the back of Billa's mind understood what he had just said and the implications of it—but the rest of her couldn't—couldn't come to grips with it. Instead, it only sputtered out, "How—how do you know about the—"

"—not that hard of a conclusion to come to, really. Just an observation," the dragon dismissed. "But more importantly: do we have a deal, Halfling? When the time comes that I need your assistance—that I require you to do something because of our…'_friendship_'—then you will help, won't you? Now that I have enabled you to have the child that is already growing in your womb?"

Billa couldn't feel the ground. The arms wrapped around her suddenly tightened themselves, and she stumbled in dizzy, earth-tilting shock. "W…what…?"

The dragon rolled his eyes. "You mean you weren't aware? Haven't you been feeling _ill _lately?"

Yes. Yes she had. But that had all been because of Vashti—that had been because of the arguments and the news about Thorin's son had made her so upset—so tense—that she had actually became nauseous and sick with grief and guilt—not because of—not because she might be pregnant again—

—but as if reading her mind, Smaug scoffed again. "Don't tell me you blamed it on something else—"

"—I—I had to—nothing else would explain it—" but Billa flushed as she did the math in her head. It…it fit. Thorin was quite an…erm…_passionate _lover; love was something that they frequently made. So a few weeks ago…could that…could that have been it? Could she have really conceived again and not have known…? Not have been aware because of the last few days of mental and emotional turmoil…?

But the dragon shook his mighty head. "Well, whatever you had thought it was, it isn't. You are clearly _with child_, Halfling. And now you have my Blessing to help you through it. But the matter remains unsettled: do we have a deal or not on your return gift?"

Billa's face flushed hard, and she nodded quickly, fervently. "Yes—yes, oh—yes, of course we do!"

Smaug snuffed out an amused breath—this one tinged with sulfur again. "Good. Then fair thee well. When the time comes that I am ready for your assistance, I will return. You had best be ready then."

"I—" –Billa swallowed sharply, still unable to come to terms with this sudden turn of events—it was all so sudden—all so wonderful and— "—yes. Of course I will be," she answered quietly. "You—you have my word. If your—if your Blessing works, then I will help you with anything you need."

"Good."

And with that, with a burst of air pressed under his large and powerful wings, he was up and gone. Soon just a small dot in the sky, yawning out a roar as he flew away, circling and gliding off.

And Billa thought she'd faint—if it wasn't for the sudden arms that wrapped themselves around her sinking form, unable to stand on its own anymore due to shock and uninhibited _joy _and _fear _all rolled into one massive, overwhelming wave.

"Billa—Billa—are you okay?"

"What did he say to you?"

"Are you all right? Did he threaten you?"

"_What did he say_?"

But at the two boys' questions—which she could see reflected in the eyes of the company that had travelled with her here—Billa shook her head, holding out a hand as a disbelieving laugh tore from her. "I—I'm—" But she couldn't finish. The words wouldn't come.

Shakily, her other hand went to her mouth as she tried to breathe evenly and deeply.

It was Kili who asked it, right by her side and holding her upright as she sat on the ground, nearly trembling. "What? What is it?"

A hot tear slid from her as she finally brought a hand down to her abdomen, placing it there, throat tight and thick and eyebrows raised to painful, broken degrees.

The gesture was one they were all familiar with—and instantly, she could see it in their faces, the dawning realization, before the aching pity came, because what else could they think? Six failed tries, and here she was with a seventh—and how could they think it would work after everything? It was only an empty hope—a babe they would never actually have—and to be timed right after Vashti had come with her own son of Thorin's—

—but Billa shook her head at their looks, whispering out, "It'll work this time—it will—he—"

—it was Kili's sudden tight embrace, pulling his aunt to him, that silenced her, and not realizing she was shaking so bad with fear and uncertainty—because, indeed, how could she know for certain that the Dragon's Blessing would make it work this time around—some part of her was terrified to get her hopes up after all this time—she clung to him appreciatively and tightly.

Especially when his voice shook—oh, her precious, precious nephew—with such a kind, big heart unlike any dwarf she had ever known—as he held her, uttering in her ear, "Of course it will, Aunt Billa. Of course it will. We all hope so, too."

Billa nodded back, even as something deep in her soul demanded that they all not only _hope _it would work—but _believed _it would, too.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Ta-daaaaaa. 8D I GIVE YOU ALL FLOWERS, MY LOVELIES. I hope you are happy with this new development. (heart heart) Most of you were expecting it, anyway. 8D

So enjoy! And do have a wonderful, wonderful day!


	4. This is Where It Begins

The camp that night was quiet. Reserved. Perhaps far too much so, really. And while the occasional joke was shared and laugh was to be had by the travelling group, there was also an overwhelming somberness, as well.

But Billa knew what the cause of it was, and she hated being at the center of it. Really, she truly did. She knew why Fili and Kili kept glancing at her with encouraging smiles after a pun, and why Oin hadn't left her side and Dwalin was being so gentle and kind. She knew, she knew—she wasn't blind or an idiot—she knew their braced sadness, and some part of her hated it just as much as the other part of her was touched that they were being so thoughtful.

_But I don't _want _to be sad,_ Billa couldn't help but think, frowning heavily as her fingertips pressed hard into the folds of her cloak, eyes burning into the fire which flared back. _Stop it—every one of you—stop this. I want to be _happy_. Can't you see? I want to celebrate this new little one, and believe it will live. I don't…I don't want to just automatically assume he or she will die...not when Smaug has given me such hope…_

She didn't. She didn't.

So after dinner had come and gone, and the others idled around the campfire, staring or speaking to one another with hushed tones, she decided she would take the matter into her own hands.

She got up and went for a walk.

(Of course, immediately, the others raised their objections to this, saying it wasn't safe—she shouldn't be out of their sight, being queen and all—what if something happened to her—but Billa assured them she wasn't going far.)

"I-I just need to…I—I just need time, I suppose. Alone."

She gave them each a comforting smile, reassured them once more that she would be fine—she wouldn't be gone very long—and then headed off.

The branches underneath cracked in two, soft and quietly like the rest of nature as it hushed and cricketed around her. The hobbit, once she finally came to a stop at a place where the thick canopy above parted enough to reveal pale moonlight, tilted her head up and closed her eyes, breathing in the musky air as heavily and deeply as she could. Her arms wrapped around herself in a tight embrace for warmth as she stood there.

And for a long, long time, that was all she did.

But then, slowly, she opened her eyes to view the night sky above.

And immediately, almost reverently, she let herself sink to her knees.

…_you know… _She breathed in heavily, in and then out, in a constant, soothing flow of motion that eased her tumultuous state. _I don't know if Someone exists Up There…or Anywhere…at all… _her breath hitched, and keeping her face resolutely skywards, Billa clenched her eyes shut tight. A hand slid and pressed against her abdomen in a fierce bid. _…but please…please…if You do hear me…please…_

…please _what_?

The words…would not come.

Billa knelt there, eyes tautly pressed closed, hand clutching at fabric, and could not…find the words to express what she was feeling at that moment. At all.

Her mind and her feelings and her nerves were everywhere, as if a bomb had been set off inside her chest and had scattered her insides to the far corners of Middle-Earth. Sure, there was hope. Unwavering, stupid, and firm because she couldn't _not_ hope—not this time. And there was despair, because how could she not fear telling Thorin that she was with child again—only to perhaps eventually kill his own joys by once again managing to miscarry him or her?

Then there was fear, because she was afraid of the disappointment that might come—heavier than before—because if Smaug's Blessing didn't work, then what would? And would that then mean that they could never have children…? That they'd always end in failure…?

That _she _would always be a failure…?

_Little one—oh, my possible, precious little one—please live for me. _She begged the silence, bowing her head finally as she changed her address and plea. _Please. Oh, please. I…I want to know you, my dear pearl, and I want to hold you; I want to cradle you and sing you lullabies in the twilight and teach you the dances of my people and watch your father straighten your sword arm and let you ride on Fili's shoulders, and play with Bombur's beard and I want—I want—I want—_

—she wanted so much.

She truly did.

She wanted this child so much it made her heart ache and it made her want to cry and beg the sky and declare that it _wasn't fair. _It _wasn't fair_ that Vashti had this beautiful boy and was happy, and that Gloin had his son and was happy and that _everyone was so happy and not her—_

—_please…_

So she stood.

Billa Baggins Oakenshield, Queen of Erebor, One of Thorin Oakenshield, let her eyes gently flutter open to the soft moonlight cold upon her face, and stood. Without moving a muscle, she remained exactly where she was, sighing in discontent, breathing out the chilly, musky smell of the forest around her as she thought and thought tried once more to come up with the words that just wouldn't appear—until finally, she decided to resort to the one language she knew better than even Westron.

Face pulled tight with fear and with anxiety and with hope and with aspirations, almost to the point of breaking—but she couldn't break; not yet, because she wasn't mourning anyone—_again, not yet, at least—and I hope I never will—oh, I hope I never will—_

—Billa broke her stance, raised her arms.

And danced her first prayer.

(Yet like before, in another forest much lighter, much warmer, and much happier, it would not be the last.)

* * *

When she was done, the forest was very, very quiet.

Almost too quiet.

* * *

Thorin had been waiting for this moment.

Kind of.

Really, he had just been waiting for Vashti to have a reason to leave her boy's side long enough that he could sit by him and spend a few hours just…_meeting_ this child that was supposed to be his son. (That was still such a strange concept to think about, anyway—that he had a _son_—after all of…well, after the past eight years.)

So as soon as Vashti gave her little one a kiss on the forehead and then departed, Thorin slid inside the room, and idled closer in open wonder.

Oh, Mahal above—that boy was _definitely _his—he had the ebony Durin hair and chin, all over (beardless, but that part would grow eventually), with cheeks still rounded from the youth and fat of babyhood, his tiny, chubby fingers clutching his wooden toys—but it was the eyes that were Vashti's, much to Thorin's disappointment. Not a grey or a blue as Durins usually had—but a hard dark brown, so brown it was almost black.

And it seemed, with how wide they were watching his estranged father from across the room, that the child had not expected this encounter, either. But to his credit, the boy didn't move. He just continued to stare with wide eyes and clenching fingers, which tightly gripped his wooden playthings to his chest.

Thorin, in the following silence, cleared his throat.

"Hello."

The boy gave a small sound, before the word rounded itself out of his tiny mouth as well in response.

"'i."

Thorin tried not to smile. He really did. But there was just something…inherently _fascinating_ about finally meeting someone of his own blood—that _he _had helped make—that he felt his mouth curving anyways.

Trying to stuff it, he slowly walked closer, so as to not scare the boy. "What do you have, there?"

Finally, those dark eyes turned away from his father and gazed down to the small things in his hands and scattered around his booted feet. "Toys," came the quiet response, with a bit of an exaggeration on the 's'—as if he had been working on that letter very often recently. "'_Amad_ bough' dem…"

Ah. This was interesting. So at least he knew a little Khuzdul. That was good. "'_Amad _did? That was nice of her." Thorin took that opportunity, once he was close enough, to finally sit down beside the child. He rested his large arms on his knees, folding his hands together as he watched the child nod back silently, reaching down to pick up another one.

Now that he could see them up close, Thorin recognized them from the ones he had often seen in the market of Dale. "Did you not bring any toys from home?"

It was weird, the startled look the boy immediately gave him at that question. Thorin didn't…quite know what to do or say to such a bewildered gaze—because what did it _mean_?—did he somehow consider it odd to bring things from an old home with him to a new home, or what?—but when the child didn't respond, just pressed his lips together tightly, Thorin decided that it might be best to change the subject.

He leaned in closer, the child's startled gaze relaxing and immediately shying away at the attention. "What's your name? I don't think your '_amad _told us what it was when she introduced you…"

Grinning softly, shyly, the boy hunched his shoulders and bowed his head as he mumbled his name so quietly, Thorin didn't hear it the first time. So the corner of his mouth quirked upwards again, and, amused, he leaned closer and asked, "Say it again? I didn't catch that."

"F…Fwewin."

But Thorin understood the name that time far more sharply and painfully than he thought he would the second time.

His spine straightened in shock, and with a slack mouth, he leaned back.

_Frerin._

She—Vashti named him after—?

The small dwarfling blinked up at him innocently, curiously, hardly knowing what his name meant or signified for Thorin—or who originally bore that name. How could he? The dwarf was long gone before this little one was even born—

—Thorin's mouth felt dry.

"Thorin! Thorin! Are you in h—oh! Yes—yes, you are—good. You're needed at once."

Relieved at the interruption, Thorin turned and stood, forcibly focusing his attention on Ori who skittered into the room, with wide, worried eyes and a flushed face. His son merely looked at both of them curiously and blankly, confused.

The dwarf king, when he found his voice, cleared his throat and asked, "What for, Ori? What has happened?"

Eyes flickering briefly over the king and his estranged child, Ori nodded and swallowed. "It's—it's Billa and the others, sir. They've finally just returned—" –the joy and relief at such news immediately washed over Thorin; whatever concerns and darkness ladening his limbs and corners of his mind from the revelation of Frerin's name quickly was overcome by the sheer _happiness_ that his wife had returned safely—but then Ori was continuing and— "—but…w-well…you're not going to like what has happened, sir."

He wasn't—he wasn't going to like what happened…?

What?

His heart feared the worst. He stepped forward. "What happened? Are they hurt? Is she—"

"—oh, no—they're fine—they're fine—they're all okay—in fact, Billa says she still has important news to tell you—b-but I'm afraid it's more than that, sir." The young dwarf began to wring his hands in worry. "Last…last night, they were…um…they were attacked…"

Attacked.

_Attacked?_

Who would be _dumb _enough to attack the queen of Erebor and her consorts— "—by _who_?" Thorin immediately growled, stalking forward.

Ori swallowed. "That's…that's just it, Thorin…that's the strange thing. They say it was trolls."

Trolls.

_Trolls_…?

What?

"In _Erebor_?" Thorin gaped.

At Ori's nod, the king was utterly baffled. Because who…who ever even _heard _of trolls coming this far northwest? Ever?

"I think…I think you'd better go see them…and hear their story yourself," Ori murmured quietly to him.

Thorin nodded, resolve hardening as he gathered himself up and marched off to demand answers. (After, of course, he had ascertained for himself that his One was, indeed, all right and scratch-free eve after such an encounter.)

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **I'm so sorry about the wait, guys. ;A; I've actually had this chapter finished for a few days, now, but I've been waiting on my dear Elsa to return to me to beta it...but I believe she is busy with graduation things (which is SUCH AN EXCITING TIME OF LIFE, BTW! If any of you have a second to spare, I think it'd be ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL if you just dropped by her Tumblr page and gave her an Anon or signed note of congratulations for graduating high school! That, or PM us here, or even just mention something in your review to congratulate her and tell her she's wonderful, and I'll pass the word along! Everyone deserves to celebrate such an accomplishment, and I would love to let my dear partner know she is valued and thought well of! Her Tumblr username is: kanomybby )

But besides that. 8D;; That also means this chapter is unbeta'd. SO. I'm sorry for the wait. I hope this is worth it. I hope you guys enjoy.

I know the chapters are coming along much more slowly than they did for _Little Myrtle Tree, _but that's only because I have so much going on right now due to work/moving out/summer school/Tumblr. So. ;A; Do know that I haven't given up on this baby. Also, do be rest assured that as soon as _Camera Shy _is finished, this should be pumping out 2 chapters a week like LMT.

And if you would be so kind as to be patient with me as well. ;A; You guys have all been superb, and there is literally _no words at all _to describe how much I love you and your faithfulness to remain with this story.

So thank you. ;A; Thank you so much from the bottom of lil' ol' me's heart.

Thank you.


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